More Than Okay
by cheride
Summary: A short follow-up to Owl's recent story. Mark's still not talking, but he really was listening.


_This is a work of fanfiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

_**Author's Note:**__ A couple of days ago, Owl surprised us with a nice look at a moment between these guys, __A Man of Few Words__. (And if you haven't read it yet, you really should before reading this one.) The story was a lovely bit of Hardcastle insight, and McCormick did his part by listening. But I was curious about the flip side, and Owl was kind enough to let me explore it, so thanks to her for sharing._

* * *

_**More Than Okay**_

_Cheride_

McCormick looked up quizzically from the recliner as the bottle was placed in front of him. Not that Hardcastle was above swooping in with a beer and pointless conversation when he felt the younger man was in need of a study break, but this didn't feel like that. Especially with the judge beginning the conversation with a directive to just sit and listen; that sort of thing just didn't happen. So McCormick simply nodded and said, "Okay."

It didn't take long for McCormick to realize this really was no ordinary Hardcastle distraction. Why was the man talking about his terminal diagnosis?

_**Mistaken**_ _diagnosis_, he reminded himself sternly.

Still, the whole ordeal was something he'd just as soon forget, and here the judge was, dredging it all up again, and even reminding him about the inheritance. In fact, he was talking quite a lot about the inheritance. Would the man never learn? But he bit back any objection he was going to make, because he'd promised to listen quietly, which really should have been his first clue that he'd be hearing something he might not like.

But as he listened, Hardcastle began to move on from the dark days of near-death and boat-nappings and he shared a reminiscence Mark had never heard before. McCormick could remember his own earliest impressions of Gull's Way, and he somehow liked the idea that a young Milt Hardcastle had felt equally out of place the first time he had seen the estate, too.

"Overwhelming", was how the judge described it, and then "magical". McCormick gave him a smile, understanding perfectly.

And for a moment, McCormick was lost somewhere in his own memories—and still trying not to focus too much on the words the judge was trying so diligently to say—when Hardcastle floated the ridiculous idea of leaving Gull's Way in the not-so-capable hands of his younger brother. Oh, deep down, Gerry was a decent enough guy, but Mark hated to think what sort of schemes the man could conjure up against the backdrop of an ocean-front Malibu estate. Hardcastle's snort said he was probably thinking about those schemes, too, and McCormick grinned. And all the while, Hardcastle kept talking about the estate; still building his case.

And, really, McCormick was thinking that the judge was right; the place _did_ have a way of grabbing hold and hanging on. Maybe it was all the time trimming roses and mowing grass—it made you feel connected somehow—though he'd never given it much conscious thought before. He'd admitted years ago that something else had bound him to this place long before the property itself had gotten to him, but—

Suddenly, his full attention was riveted on the man in front of him. Hardcastle's comment about passing the estate on to the next generation had stopped him cold, but the older man wasn't done.

"_I told you once you weren't a replacement for my son_," he said in a quiet voice.

Even if Hardcastle were looking to turn this into a dialogue, Mark didn't trust himself to speak, so he just fixed an unblinking gaze on the other man and kept listening.

But the judge hadn't been looking for a response, and was still talking about things that McCormick didn't really want to think about—about an inevitable future that he wouldn't be ready to face for a long, long time yet.

But this time, it was different from that long-ago dinner of twenty dollar salads. Maybe because it _was_ still in the distant future, or maybe because so many things had been settled between them in the intervening years. This time, the idea of becoming the Hardcastle heir didn't scare him, but it did move him. And though he could find no argument with the plan the judge had laid out, he was still a little surprised by the pride he felt welling up inside him. He'd been proud for a long time to be Hardcastle's sidekick, his partner, his friend, but _this_ . . . this was different. Different, but still right; it _did_ make sense.

And he could tell Hardcastle was relieved to have gotten it out in the open. That was different, too; unless it was illegal, getting things out in the open was rarely the judge's first choice. But that was good; it meant he wouldn't have to try to explain his own feelings to the other man; wouldn't have to try to put into words his gratitude that he was not the only one who recognized how much this estate had become home to him over the years. Now, maybe more than ever, he was grateful that Hardcastle was not the kind of man who wanted to hear ten words when one would be enough, because he thought one was probably all he could manage.

"Okay."

And it really was enough, and more than okay.


End file.
